


Chocolate, Raspberry, Cinnamon

by cydonic



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F, Fluff, Humor, Lesbian Sex, Meet-Cute, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:32:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3749974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cydonic/pseuds/cydonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Lexa knows is the girl in her store is not-Clark/Klark/Clarck/Claaaaark, and she has the strangest order. Oh, and she's pretty hot when she's mad, which is most of the time.</p><p>(coffee shop!au wherein Clarke only orders when she's in a bad mood and she won't tell Lexa how to spell her name)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chocolate, Raspberry, Cinnamon

Working in a coffee shop seems to be the staple of every college story. The store where everyone is family and they always laugh and joke and have fun, with no rude or impatient customers to be seen. The reality of it is quite the opposite: Lexa spends most of her days deeply considering selling an organ to pay for her tuition instead, as working on minimum wage and pitiful tips isn't getting her too far. The customers, on the whole, act as if she doesn't exist at all, and for every overly nice one, there is an overly mean one. The people Lexa works with are okay for the most part – Anya is a good manager, and runs a tight ship, but some of the other employees are just useless.

On one fine afternoon, when the sky outside is grey and rain drizzles, Lexa is occupying herself with checking syrup levels and contemplating the fragility of life. There's a lull in customers which Lexa usually attributes to the extinction of the entire human race (she's also usually wrong) when the doorbell chimes.

A woman walks in, soaking wet despite the rain outside being more accurately described as a sprinkle than a storm. On her (pretty) face is a very obvious scowl, and she stalks up to the counter. Lexa envisions a tiny, angry storm-cloud hovering above her head.

“What can I get you?” Lexa asks, the smile on her face born from too many years spent in customer service.

The first noise she makes is a grumble, before actually getting to the ordering. “Largest hot chocolate you do with two pumps of raspberry syrup, one pump of cinnamon.”

It's a strange order, and Lexa's not sure she's ever served someone who wanted that particular combination before. “Alright,” is all she says, though, as she punches in the instruction's she's been given before taking payment. “Name?”

“Clark.”

Lexa hums – strange name for a strange order. “Won't be long.”

On the top of the cup she writes “ _Clark_ ”, because how else do you spell that name? Then she starts to fill the order the way she's been instructed to, including what Lexa considers an inhuman amount of syrup. To be fair, though, Lexa considers anything other than black coffee too sweet.

There's no one else in the store, and Clark is leaning against the counter, waiting for her drink. She's also dripping all over _everything_ , and glaring daggers at the wall.

“Here you go.” Lexa places the finished creation on the counter, name visible on the white lid.

Clark returns to herself, and the glare softens only momentarily before it has a new target. “You spelled my name wrong.” She states, glancing back up at Lexa before taking her drink, turning on her heel, and leaving.

“Have a nice day.” Lexa blandly responds once not-Clark has left, staring at her as she storms down the street, hunched over her hot chocolate.

When the blonde is out of sight, Lexa has to look at something else, and her eyes fortunately alight on the water slide not-Clark created on the floor. _Brilliant_ , now she has to mop up too.

Maybe things would be better if the entire human race had gone extinct.

\---

Lexa finds herself pleasantly surprised when not-Clark returns later that week, which is, well, surprisingly. Lexa doesn’t ordinarily take kindly to girls who are rude, leave water everywhere, and refuse to tell her how to correctly spell their names. However Lexa can’t deny that not-Clark piques her curiousity - and Lexa loves having a problem to solve.

This time not-Clark is (thankfully) not soaking wet, but is wearing an even more furious look than last time.

Lexa likes to think her memory is pretty good, and so by the time the other woman is ready to order she has most of it on the screen. Hot chocolate, two raspberry, one cinnamon. Ew. “Six thirty-five, thanks.”

Not-Clark fumbles through the pockets of her jeans (very tight-fitting, Lexa follows the movement with her eyes), pulling out and slamming down whatever change she can find. Counting it up, she only reaches $4.80. “ _Fuck_ ,” she says, then takes a deep, steadying breath. “Sorry, someone stole my fucking bag and this is all I have and-”

“Don't mention it.” Lexa says, swiping her staff discount card and watching the price drop. “Will you tell me how to spell your name this time?”

Not-Clark, infuriatingly, just shrugs and smiles. It's not a happy smile, but it's a trying-to-be-happy smile. “Try again.”

Lexa doesn't even bother to hide her eye-roll, and it draws a chuckle from annoyingly-not-Clark. “Fine. It'll be up in a minute.”

On the lid of the cup, Lexa writes “ _Klark?_ ”

When she gives the order out, Klark just smiles and shakes her head. “The C was right.”

They stand there for a moment, both hands on the drink. Lexa is glaring, just a little, and it pushes not-Klark's smile over the line into actually-a-bit-happy territory.

“Thank you for this. I really appreciate it.” With that, not-Klark is gone, and Lexa still has no _fucking_ clue how to spell her name.

\---

“ _Clarck_ ” is Lexa's next attempt.

Clarck is annoyed on this occasion – two weeks and three days after her first visit – because she nearly failed her group assignment. “And if some people just did their _job_ like they were supposed to, instead of _fucking around with other people_ ,” Lexa knows when it's best to just not ask, and this is one of those times, “we would have been fine. My work alone was perfect! I sent it through to my tutor ahead of time and she said it was great. I have a 4.0 to maintain and I don't give a shit if he'd rather be off playing beer pong or something stupid, his shitty grades are not going to bring my good ones down again!” Clarck throws her hands up in the air out of frustration, and Lexa is glad she's still holding the burning hot drink.

“Modest, too.” Lexa notes with a smile, passing the drink over.

“Only one C.”

“Why won't you just tell me?” Lexa asks, catching not-Clarck-either before she disappears into the ether.

The question seems to stump the other woman, and she stops a moment in thought. “I think it's more fun this way, Lexa. Don't you?”

\---

There is a month between visits. Lexa is undeniably a bit saddened by this news. She's starting to like not-Clark/Klark/Clarck. For all her difficulty in the name department, she seems like an interesting person. And Lexa really can't complain about her in the looks department – even soaking wet or glaring daggers, she's damn hot. Lexa almost regrets not taking more advantage of their initial meeting, in which she had perfect opportunity to admire soaking, skin-tight clothing. Alas, Lexa had been too busy getting annoyed at not-Clarck's name.

Closing time is drawing near when not-Clarck comes in. She looks like she was wearing some make-up at some point that day, if the smudges of black beneath her eyes are anything to go by.

There's no need to give the order, as Lexa has it done. Payment is exchanged, and not-Clarck takes a seat to wait. Ordinarily Lexa would be irritated by this, as it implies someone who wants to hang around and take their time. Considering closing time is only five minutes away, this is a very bad thing.

Luckily for not-Clarck, she happens to be, well... not-Clarck. And Lexa has a soft-spot for her.

This time, in an attempt to cheer her up, Lexa writes “ _Claaaaark_ ” on the lid of the cup. On the side she sketches a pirate, long flowing hair, eye-patch on and sword raised. A tiny bird flaps around the pirate's head, letting out a cartoon speech bubble “ _squawk!_ ” Lexa only has a few artistic tools to work with (three markers: black, red, and blue), but she colours in as best she can. A ship slowly comes together, tiny blue waves keeping it buoyant. Lexa adds a tiny bit of red to the sword.

Lexa takes the cup out to possibly-Claaaaark, and places it on the table, pirate facing her. “I have to start closing up, but you can stay if you'd like.”

Without waiting for an answer, Lexa flees. It feels so strange to offer someone that comfort, especially when her usual approach to closing time is cleaning up so quickly she's out in five minutes. In the half-hour leading up to the store’s close, Lexa is busy shutting down and cleaning up things no one would have use for so late at night. And if they do? Lexa will just have to give them the “unfortunately we're out of stock” bit.

Lexa is strangely pleased that possibly-Claaaaark hangs around. It's nice, cleaning up with someone there. Less lonely. Less like work. Lexa is able to lose herself in a task, but then look up and see a beautiful, blonde woman watching her with sad eyes and a faint smile. Something strange curls in Lexa's stomach, and she thinks that perhaps she'd like to have someone with her more often.

Then the dishwasher makes a noise, and she has to go deal with that.

Out in the back room, Lexa counts the money quickly, dividing up a float for the next day and what would be banked by Anya Monday morning. When she leaves the room, after only two minutes tops, she finds that her company has disappeared.

Lexa's heart falls so hard that she fears she may choke. Who gave this mysterious girl, who only buys a drink when she's mad and/or sad, the right to Lexa's emotions? That's just not fair.

 _And_ she left a napkin on the table – the nerve of her!

Lexa walks over to throw it in the bin, but pauses when she notices the marker sitting on top. The marker that belongs at the counter, which must have been briefly liberated for the purpose of drawing on a napkin.

It's by no means a good drawing, but neither was Lexa's – napkins and coffee cups just aren't as good as paper and canvas. Lexa can easily make out the image, though – a woman clasping hands atop a cliff, looking out on the ocean at a blur in the distance which might've been a ship before the ink bled. Above that, in looping handwriting contained by a speech bubble, is “ _when will my love return from the sea?_ ”

Lexa finds herself smiling stupidly at the drawing, flipping the napkin over to see if there's anything else there. The other side has two words - “ _Thank You!_ ” - and a small love heart next to them.

The napkin is spared an unfortunate fate in the trash.

\---

Lexa can only assume that a traumatic event has occurred in the life of Claaaaark (she didn't tell Lexa it was wrong, so it might just be right). A break-up, perhaps? Or, sadder still, a death in the family? Honestly, Lexa would rather the former as it allows her mind to get very creative with its fantasies. The one where they test out every surface in the coffee shop is quite possibly her favourite, and any thought of a partner just ruins it for her. Lexa might have dirty thoughts, but she is no home wrecker.

In the following week, Claaaaark comes in every day for her usual. And every single time, Lexa draws something on there: on the first day it is a soldier (who looks suspiciously like Lexa), “ _I'd kill for you (but not really)_ ” written above it ; the next day it is a superhero, with “ _YOU'RE SUPER CUTE_ ”; the third a mermaid and a fish serenading her with, “ _darling it's better down where it's wetter_ ”; and so on and so forth until Lexa feels she has no more ideas.

She did, however, have a fridge cluttered with responding drawings on napkins. Her favourite thus far was a Pokemon trainer with “ _I'd choose you!_ ” proclaimed above her head, but it seemed silly to make decisions like that when they were only just getting started.

\---

Since the blonde has yet to inform Lexa of the correct spelling of her name, and Lexa is getting rather annoyed at _not_ knowing (Facebook stalking is easier with a name, _hello_ ), she takes a different approach with the cup today. On the cup she draws six lines, big enough for one letter each. Above it, she writes “ _Hello, my name is:_ ” Once the order is available for collection, Lexa hands it over with a pen and a smile.

When Lexa cleans up the table, the to-go cup left behind in what Lexa would consider laziness were it anyone else, she eagerly searches for the solution to her name dilemma. Four of the lines are occupied, with the following capital letters: L E X A. Lexa _nearly_ curses out loud, whilst the cup crumples slightly under her tightened grip. As she's about to dispose of it, Lexa notices more writing: “ _I can't believe you could forget your own name, Lexa. It's written on your name badge. - Clarke_.”

And just like that, Lexa thinks she might just be getting somewhere.

\---

Lexa doesn't know how she feels about Octavia, one of their latest hires, but Indra is willing to vouch for her and that's worth something. Lexa's cool indifference morphs into something like irritation when Octavia texts her, begging her to take Octavia's Friday night shift because she has some very important, unnamed business to attend to.

Were student debts a manageable, less-terrifying beast, Lexa would have said no and enjoyed a Friday night to herself. Alas, this is the real world, and in the real world tens of thousands of dollars of debt are looming behind every corner, so she begrudgingly agrees.

Friday nights are the worst shifts of all, because everyone is out doing fun stuff, or relaxing stuff, or just _stuff_ in general. The store is dead quiet, and all you do is go crazy with boredom until the blessed time 11pm hits.

Lexa cleans everything that could possibly need cleaning, ensures every chair is at its appropriate table (college kids like to ruin _everything_ ), and even dirties up some more things just to entertain herself.

It's just after 8pm and she's not sure she can survive three more hours of his torture, when Clarke enters the store.

Clarke who is dressed up quite nicely, Clarke who does not look mad and/or sad as she typically does when she visits, Clarke who looks around expectantly like Lexa _isn't_ the person she's looking for and that hurts.

“Good evening, Clarke.” Lexa greets, tossing a tea towel over her shoulder and leaning against the counter.

“Lexa, hey.” Clarke replies. “There's no one else here, is there?”

“It's been dead for about half an hour.”

“Oh thank _God_.” Clarke crosses the space between them quickly, coming to all but sag against the counter. “Bellamy is trying to hook me up with a blind date and I feel too bad to cancel on someone but I _really_ can't be bothered going out tonight.”

Lexa smiles and bites her lip, not sure how to react to how adorable Clarke is. “And, what, they decided the number one romantic destination of the night was a coffee shop?”

Clarke laughs. “I don't know, apparently? I'm meant to meet them here, and I'm already five minutes late but they're not even here yet.”

Lexa's heart constricts just a little at the thought of Clarke getting stood up – and it's in a good way. She doesn't want to see someone else sweep in here and take her Clarke away. Who will draw silly pictures on coffee cups and napkins with her? Who will make strange orders and keep her company after close? Lexa didn't know how much she needed Clarke's company until she got it, and now she's not sure she can just go without.

The door opens as Lexa's about to offer Clarke her usual. Her heart curls a little tighter – here it comes. Someone who might well be Clarke's soulmate here to sweep her away.

Indra simply narrows her eyes at Lexa. “What are you doing here?”

“Octavia asked me to cover her shift.”

“She asked me to cover her shift too.”

Lexa's brow furrows – could Octavia really be so forgetful as to ask two separate people to cover her shift? Surely not.

Lexa looks to Clarke, who appears consumed by very intense thoughts. Before Lexa's eyes, she watches understanding unfold across Clarke's features, lighting them up in a most enchanting way.

“Did you say Octavia?” Clarke asks as she pulls her phone out, firing off some messages as Indra and Lexa both answer the affirmative.

It takes mere seconds for Clarke's phone to beep, once, twice, and then a third time. A smile dawns on Clarke's face like a sunrise, growing wider and more radiant until it consumes her entire face. “You're the date.” She says, looking up at Lexa.

Lexa... doesn't quite get it. “I'm the date?” She echoes.

Clarke rolls her eyes and turns her phone so Lexa can read the conversation.

_Clarke: You two!!!!!_

_Clarke: Are you trying to hook me up with Lexa???????_

_Octavia: :) she won't shut up about you_

_Bellamy: and you won't shut up about her! go have fun princess._

_Bellamy: also we're moving Friday night's to Jasper's so we don't get in your way. ;)_

“Wait – you're friends with Octavia?” Lexa asks, slowly starting to put the pieces together. “And I do not talk about you that much.” She adds, sulkily.

“Yeah, and her brother, Bellamy. I can't believe they'd do this.” Clarke is surprised, but she doesn't appear to be surprised in a bad way. “Sorry – if this is too awkward we don't have to.”

“No, I'd... I'd like to.” Lexa cuts in before Clarke can say too much.

It feels like a dream come true, having Clarke go on a date with her – having Clarke look _excited_ to go on a date with her – but Lexa isn't exactly ready for this.

“I don't have anything to wear.” Lexa says, waving a hand at herself: uniform shirt, tight black pants, and some black sneakers. The pants are covered in places with dirty hand prints, and her shirt probably smells like coffee and sweat. Not exactly hot date material.

Clarke grins even wider, if that was at all possible. “That's fine. I've got a place we can go.”

Indra was watching the entire time they spoke, absorbing the exchange but saying nothing – until now. “Get out of here if you're not going to do any work, then.” Lexa knows Indra well enough to know what she says comes from fondness, not irritation, but Clarke appears shocked.

“Thank you, Indra.” Lexa ducks out from behind the counter, quickly dashing out the back to grab her jacket. Before leaving she pats down her pockets: in one sits her phone, in the other her wallet and keys.

There's more bounce to her step than Lexa's ever had at work, and she comes to stand in front of Clarke, not sure what she should do with her hands or her body or _anything_.

Clarke solves her problem by taking her hand, giving her a “ _is this okay?_ ” look.

The answer is very much yes, which Lexa demonstrates with a squeeze, looping their fingers together.

“Where are we going?” Lexa asks once they're outside in the biting winter air, sticking close to each other to conserve warmth.

“You'll see.” Clarke replies, leading her towards campus... and straight into student housing.

Lexa gives Clarke a questioning look but continues to follow her until they reach Clarke's floor. When Clarke stops at a door to fish some keys out of her bag, Lexa can't help deadpanning: “You're taking me to your room.”

“Yes?” Clarke replies, looking a tad shocked with her keys in hand.

“You haven't even bought me dinner yet.” Lexa continues, a look of completely seriousness on her face.

Clarke's eyes narrow, and then she smiles. “You're an idiot. I just don't really feel like going out tonight, and you probably don't either if you've been working. So I thought we'd stay in.”

Lexa smiles in response, honestly quite excited at the prospect of being able to laze around. She certainly doesn't look good enough to take Clarke out to any kind of fancy restaurant, and somehow Lexa doesn't feel like McDonald's is a suitable first date destination.

Inside, everything is neat and tidy. Even the things that are messy look like they're in an organised mess. It's all relatively plain and neutral, with some personal touches: the book shelf explodes into a smaller pile stacked precariously on the floor; there's a huge canvas galaxy print above the tv, and another wall has a string of polaroid photos, presumably of Clarke and her friends.

“Now, I'll get everything ready,” Clarke begins, as she leads Lexa by the hand into the kitchen, “and you can find something to eat. There's some leftover pizza in the fridge, but I swear it's tasty. Otherwise there's snacks in the cupboard, take what you want. I'll come get you when I'm done, okay?”

“What are you doing?”

“That's the surprise.” Clarke says, squeezing Lexa's hand before releasing it. She shuts the kitchen door behind her, and Lexa is left to hunt down a meal for them.

She decides upon the leftover pizza. It's from the gourmet place downtown, and there's plenty left in the box to feed the two of them. Lexa hunts through Clarke's various cupboards until she finds the plates, and slides a couple of slices onto a single plate. Once Lexa has put them in the microwave, she notices something strangely familiar above the appliance: a row of to-go coffee cups. They're all the ones Lexa drew on, lined up in the order Clarke received them.

It's around the time the microwave beeps that Lexa returns to herself, grabbing the hot plate and poking some of the slices to check that they are warmed through.

Clarke must have been summoned by the microwave, too, as seconds later she pulls the door open. “Ready?”

“You kept the cups.” Lexa tells her, gesturing with the plate at the cups when Clarke looks blankly at her. “I kept the napkins.”

“Oh!” Clarke makes a noise of realisation, and suddenly some colour rises to her cheeks. “Oh, yeah, I – I really like them.”

“I'm glad.” Lexa says, bumping Clarke with her hip as she goes back out into the living area.

Lexa had been expecting Clarke to be preparing a movie or board game or something, but when she gets out into the living room she notices something very large missing. The couch – whilst only a loveseat – is gone, and it had previously taken up a good portion of the small room.

“What are we doing?” Lexa asks, as Clarke moves in front of her and motions for her to follow.

Well, when Lexa has a view like that, she's rather helpless to do anything other than follow along. Clarke is equal parts intriguing personality and sexual attraction and it is honestly going to be the death of Lexa.

Clarke opens the door onto the balcony and gestures at what she's created. The couch has been dragged out there (how didn't Lexa hear that?), and is bundled high with blankets. Clarke takes the pizza from Lexa's hands and places it down on a transplanted coffee table. Surrounding the pizza are two sketchbooks, A3 paper inside, and an assortment of drawing implements.

Lexa spends a minute taking it all in, lips slightly parted. “We're going to eat pizza and draw on your balcony?”

Clarke looks behind her at the set-up, as if to double-check for herself, and then nods. “Is that okay?”

“Absolutely.” Lexa says, and follows Clarke's lead into the nest of blankets.

The pizza is devoured quickly (Lexa can't eat on shift and she was pulling a double for Octavia; Clarke had been saving herself for her date), and then the sketchbooks are pulled up. As they draw, they talk about everything. Lexa learns that Clarke is not an art major, as much as she loves drawing, but is studying human resources. She's moved from across the country to study, eager to break out of home, but her mother still calls every few days to make sure she's okay. Clarke made friends with Bellamy when they shared an introductory college unit and were put in the same group together – after a few weeks of competing for group leader, they eventually accepted that they could do it together, much to the chagrin of some of their classmates, and to the delight of others who then had less work to do. After that, Clarke established herself as part of that friend group, and Bellamy even moved in with her this year (in a completely platonic way, Lexa also got the story about the one time they kissed and it was _weird_ ). Clarke's mother pays for all of her tuition and books, apparently carrying some guilt for the breakdown of her marriage, but doesn't give Clarke any spending money. Which is how Clarke got a job working at the campus radio station for Raven – she never goes on air, she just keeps everything organised and running smoothly.

As well as all the fact talk, they talk about nothing, too. About pets they had as children and dreams they have a lot and horoscopes and stupid things they read online and ridiculous things their friends did. They talk about what they're drawing – Clarke drawing the night sky, Lexa drawing Clarke.

“Sorry I was so rude to you the first time I came into the store.” Clarke's voice comes over the sound of pencil on paper. “Some jerk had swerved into a puddle to deliberately soak me.”

“And a raspberry cinnamon hot chocolate is your go-to when you're feeling down?”

“Apparently.” Clarke replies with a small laugh. “Honestly, seeing the cute barista is my go-to when I'm feeling down, but the drink helped.”

“You came in for me?” Lexa asks, turning sideways so she was fully facing Clarke now, her back propped up against the arm of the couch.

“Maybe not the first time, but after that... yeah.” Clarke says, smiling down at her sketchbook. “You made me feel better. With the name and the pictures... and just... you.” She gives Lexa a side-eye, and it's one of the sexiest things Lexa has ever seen.

“Put the sketchbook down.” Lexa says, placing hers on the table beside the empty plate.

“What? Why?” Clarke asks, brow pulling down in confusion.

“Because I don't want to ruin your book.” Lexa's voice drops a level, and Clarke immediately drops the book onto the table – nearly tossing it out of her way.

Lexa closes the gap between them, wrapping one hand around Clarke's waist and pulling her up so their bodies are flush. Their lips meet in a frantic mess, as the sudden admission of weeks, _months_ , of mutual interest give way to mutual discovery. They fight together to find a pace that suits them, noses bumping as they tilt their heads and change their tactics. Clarke's hands are making a mess of Lexa's hair, and Lexa is holding Clarke so tightly she can feel each breath match with her own, inhale to exhale.

“God, Clarke, you are gorgeous.” Lexa murmurs, kissing a trail from the side of Clarke's lip down along her jawline and up to her ear. She pulls on a small, gold star earring with her teeth. “Do you know how much I've thought about doing this? Thought about having you underneath me?”

Whispering in Clarke's ear is apparently a turn-on for her, because the blonde arches up into Lexa's chest, making a high-pitched noise. “ _Please_.”

“Is this what you want?” Lexa asks, husky. “I don't want to rush you.” She turns her attention to Clarke's pale neck, placing kisses on every untouched piece of skin.

“Lexa, I want you.” Clarke uses Lexa's hair to pull her up. “Bellamy doesn't notice things very much, so if he noticed me talking about you it means I did it _a lot_. And I did, because I haven't been able to get you off my mind. Who said you were allowed to wear such tight pants to work?”

Clarke's hands work their way out of Lexa's hair and slide down to cup her ass. “That just isn't fair.” Her fingers dip beneath the waistline, cold on Lexa's warm flesh – but that's not where the shudder down her spine comes from.

Lexa laughs, her own hands moving up from Clarke's waist to investigate what hides beneath her shirt. Clarke laughs and wriggles beneath her - “your hands are _cold_ ” “so are yours” - until Lexa fingers the underwire of her bra. Lexa returns her lips to Clarke's neck, nipping and kissing tiny bruises the colour of the night sky that start to fade as soon as they're created. She slides Clarke's bra up and immediately starts working on her nipples, rolling and pinching them.

Clarke, very unsubtly, cries out.

“You like that?” Lexa laughs, and Clarke whimpers. _Whimpers_. The noise does horrible things to Lexa's already turned-on body.

Clarke must sense this because even though she's making these torturously hot noises, her hands slide from back to front. She undoes Lexa's pants and slides them down just far enough to gain access to her panties.

“Clarke, _please_.” Now it's Lexa's turn to beg as Clarke runs her palm over the outside of her underwear.

“Please what?” Clarke asks, and she has the teasing bit down to a tee.

“Touch me.” It sounds more strangled than Lexa would like, but she twists one of Clarke's nipples suddenly just to put them on more even ground.

Clarke slides Lexa's panties down, and then runs her fingers along her warm, wet, sensitive flesh. Lexa is nearly quivering. “Fuck me.” She whispers, low in Clarke's ears, and gets just what she asked for because a finger slides inside her seconds later.

Lexa groans, body grinding down on Clarke's hand. She sets a good pace from the start – fast enough to push Lexa up to climax, but not quite enough to get her there.

Meanwhile Lexa gives up on using her hands on Clarke's breasts, instead ducking her head beneath her shirt. She would have removed it, would have marvelled at the sight of a naked Clarke, but the weather outside is near freezing and it just seems unfair to strip her off.

Besides, they can get to the naked stuff next, once they're inside.

Lexa uses her lips to tease Clarke's nipples now, whilst her own hand mimics Clarke's moves from earlier: fly undone, pants down, wandering hand.

Clarke loses her pace when Lexa slides a finger inside her, angled just so that her palm rubs against her clit at the same time. The three fingers inside Lexa are brushing over her g-spot every damn time, and her body is instinctively starting to thrust, to seek  _more_.

“Fuck Lexa, please don't stop.” Clarke moans, as Lexa inserts another finger and starts to pump in and out, curling her fingers _just so_.

Lexa knows her pace isn't good, it jumps and stutters with every stroke from Clarke, but it's something. All conscious thought leaves the balcony – all words leave too, replaced by sounds of pleasure – and Lexa is nothing but this moment in time. She exists in this infinite plane of pleasure, where Clarke's moans do as much for her as the fingers inside her. There's something so arousing about getting someone off, about knowing the sounds they make are because of you.

It is that thought along that drives Lexa to orgasm, muffling her cries between Clarke's breasts.

Clarke slides her hand out of Lexa, and uses her other hand to lift Lexa's head from under her shirt. Lexa looks at Clarke, dazed and unable to focus for a few seconds, until Clarke slides those wet fingers into her mouth. Clarke _moans_ at her taste, and if Lexa doesn't get Clarke off right now, doesn't taste her too, she will surely die.

Lexa removes her fingers from Clarke (ignoring the annoyed sound her partner makes) and slides down her body, leaving a trail of kisses. Once she's repositioned herself she contorts one hand so it's gently fingering Clarke, and starts to kiss her clit. It's not the most comfortable position, but Clarke is already wound so tight it takes little more than some carefully placed sucks (and one gentle, oh-so-gentle, nip) to have her crying out in ecstasy too.

They move around under the blankets, rearranging themselves until they are lying together. With the blankets and the body warmth, they both manage to fall asleep – half-dressed and entwined together.

When they awaken early the next morning, they are greeted by a sight on the coffee table: two steaming cups, and a word on each: “ _you're_ ” on one, “ _welcome_ ” on the other.

Lexa makes sure she's decent before sitting up and grabbing one of them, taking a precautionary sniff of it. It smells sickly sweet, so she passes on to Clarke, who is making a face at the strong coffee aroma coming from the cup in her hands.

“How is it?” Lexa asks, once Clarke takes a mouthful.

“It's okay, but there's this hot barista who makes my order just the way I like.” Clarke says, smiling over the brim of the cup at her.

“Perhaps you should ask her out instead of toying with my heart.” Lexa replies, faux-dramatically.

Clarke appears to consider this for a moment, and then places her drink down on the table. Lexa watches her carefully.

“You should put your drink down too, I'd hate to ruin it.”


End file.
